Each parasite, then, as in duty bound,
    The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. 
      At length Modestus, bowing low,
    Said (craving pardon, if too free he made),
     “Sir, by your leave, I fain would know
    Your father’s trade!”

   “My father’s trade! by heaven, that’s too bad! 
    My father’s trade?  Why, blockhead, are you mad? 
    My father, sir, did never stoop so low—­
    He was a gentleman, I’d have you know.”

   “Excuse the liberty I take,”
      Modestus said, with archness on his brow,
   “Pray, why did not your father make
      A gentleman of you?”

SELLECK OSBORNE.

 THE LEGEND OF BISHOP HATTO.

“The Legend of Bishop Hatto” is doubtless a myth (Robert Southey, 1774-1843).  But “The Mouse-Tower on the Rhine” is an object of interest to travellers, and the story has a point

    The summer and autumn had been so wet,
    That in winter the corn was growing yet: 
   ’Twas a piteous sight to see, all around,
    The grain lie rotting on the ground.

    Every day the starving poor
    Crowded around Bishop Hatto’s door;
    For he had a plentiful last-year’s store,
    And all the neighbourhood could tell
    His granaries were furnished well.

    At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
    To quiet the poor without delay: 
    He bade them to his great barn repair,
    And they should have food for winter there.

    Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
    The poor folk flocked from far and near;
    The great barn was full as it could hold
    Of women and children, and young and old.

    Then, when he saw it could hold no more,
    Bishop Hatto, he made fast the door;
    And while for mercy on Christ they call,
    He set fire to the barn and burned them all.

   “I’ faith, ’tis an excellent bonfire!” quoth he;
   “And the country is greatly obliged to me
    For ridding it in these times forlorn
    Of Rats that only consume the corn.”

    So then to his palace returned he,
    And he sat down to supper merrily,
    And he slept that night like an innocent man;
    But Bishop Hatto never slept again.

    In the morning as he entered the hall,
    Where his picture hung against the wall,
    A sweat-like death all over him came;
    For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.

    As he looked, there came a man from his farm;
    He had a countenance white with alarm: 
   “My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn,
    And the Rats had eaten all your corn.”

    Another came running presently,
    And he was pale as pale could be: 
   “Fly, my Lord Bishop, fly!” quoth he,
   “Ten thousand Rats are coming this way;
    The Lord forgive you yesterday!”

   “I’ll go to my town on the Rhine,” replied he;
   “’Tis the safest place in Germany;
    The walls are high, and the shores are steep,
    And the stream is strong, and the water deep.”